Philistine Tragedy
by heartbreaking genius
Summary: Death Eaters and light wizards alike, they have no loyalty, no sense of kinship. Even after you save the world for them, after you do everything and go through everything for them, they will still turn their backs.


A/N: Okay, forget it. I realized that a story that must be written and rewritten and written again will demand too much of my free time. I'm planning on writing some plot-driven story later, rather than one that requires finesse. I apoligize, my three reviewers. _Perdóneme_.

* * *

Outside the dirty square window the waves crash and the land is desolate. The sky is black and dreary, the water a seething medusa. Over the dark dingy island sits a dark dingy dungeon, and the sun flees.

I wipe off my chin and lick my lips. People think the food is substandard here, but it is enough. Just enough nutrients to keep you living. It tastes like shit.

People expect me to transfigure it into something more appealing to the tastebuds, something with culinary flourish. _Harry Potter should be able to do it, mom. Transfigure me a cake._ Idiot kid doesn't know you can't transfigure the taste. Make it look like a crème brulee, but it will still torture your tongue and punch your palate. Prison food is not an acquired taste.

My uniform declares me Harry Potter, just like that idiot kid talking to his mom.

It's sort of funny, because not everyone refers to me as Harry Potter. They refer to me as a boy. _The Boy Who Lived,_ they might say. Most of the time it's _The Boy Who Betrayed_. My uncle has his own name for me. The name is _the boy._

Now, here's the funny part. The _punch line_ is what some Muggles call it. A lifetime imprisonment in Azkaban is an adult's sentence. Two lifetime sentences is even worse, and it makes me wonder, how do you serve two lifetime sentences? Your life, and then your afterlife?

Here's the real punch line, a haymaker to the jaw. At sixteen years old, when I was a _boy_, I was sentenced to Azkaban for six lifetimes.

I know, I laughed when I heard it too. Right there in the courtroom. I don't know if I laughed back then because I thought it was a joke, an elaborate prank by the Weasley twins, but now I see the humor in it. Dumbledore didn't look like he heard a joke, though. He looked disappointed in me. He might have even said so—_I am disappointed in you_— but I've forgotten by now. I've forgotten whether I was guilty or innocent. I've forgotten what I was sentenced for.

I've forgotten a lot of things.

Maybe I just don't care.

Because now, I know everything.

Just ask me a question, anything. I know you want to.

How do you cast the killing curse? It's simpler than most spells, really, since it has no wand movement. It's powered by emotion, and refined by intent. Most people think that it's based on hate. They are wrong. Theoretically, if you have intense love, and intend to kill the person you love, you could kill them with the killing curse. It's not the flavor of your emotion that matters, just that there's a lot of it.

Theoretically, it would work, but I haven't tried. I don't feel a lot of love for many people.

Okay, I don't feel love for anyone.

And, of course, the incantation is _Avada Kedavra._ Two words, and it's all over for the target, unless it's blocked. That might lead you to another question. How do you block the killing curse?

If you're an average wizard, you could conjure something physical and place it in the path of the curse. Organisms work best, as they soak up the curse whether they're a rat or an elephant. As such, much energy is not required using this method. Inorganic substances are also suitable, but a sufficiently thick barrier requires significantly more energy than a fly or rat would. It also limits your creativity. The most you could get with inorganic materials is maybe a jewel-studded aegis, or a mirror with gold trim. With the organic method, conjure a peacock! A baby seal! A Tyrannosaurus Rex! Note that these some of the more flamboyant methods may expend more energy.

That's if you're an average wizard. If you're weak. If you're not, you must take the offensive to be victorious. Kill them before they kill you. You must not show mercy, or they will backstab you when they first get the chance. Death Eaters and light wizards alike, they have no loyalty, no sense of kinship. Even after you save the world for them, after you do everything and go through everything for them, they will still turn their backs.

The only thing you can't ask me is how I know this when I've been in prison since the beginning of my sixth year. I couldn't tell you if I wanted to.

If someone asked me, I'd say I was plotting. I'm not. I haven't been. I haven't been doing anything. You could say I'm waiting for something to happen. Evidence to show up that vindicates me. Someone to burst into my eight-by-eight padlocked and reinforced cell and tell me I'm innocent, even just that they believe it.

I've been waiting for eight years.

No one has come.

It has been long enough.

Go ahead, ask another question. _Mr. Potter, are you planning to escape?_

Call me Harry, and only if you won't tell anyone.

As for how, the window would be the obvious choice—three bars between me and freedom. It would also be the wrong choice. They don't tell anyone this, but the windows aren't real. They are an illusion, woven by the ancient sages who built the place. It could be blue and sunny outside, but it will always be stormy and tormented for you. You'll never see the sun and birds will never sing to you.

They don't tell anyone, but I know.

Twelve o'clock strikes. It's time.

_Alohamora,_ I say. The door doesn't move.

_Open Sesame._ The door stares back at me.

Okay. Fine. _Reducto_.

The fist of the explosion curse tears through the door and smothers it against the far wall. Clouds of dust depart from the ceiling and are falling rose petals until they hit the ground.

I wonder why it's still so easy to open after I've broken through it twice. You would think that a Ministry team would be able to assemble something more than a ramshackle resistance against a starved crazy and wandless wizard like myself. Galvanizing charm? Please. They might as well grease the hinges for me.

Once I'm out of my cell I cast a small earthquake. I don't know the incantation so I say something kind of mumble-mumble, but the spell goes off flawlessly. The ground shivers once, twice, then rests.

* * *

The 4th Auror Division stood on the shore of Azkaban with their wands pointed at a circle of chalk on the ground adjacent to the edge of the wards.

"What's the ETA, Captain?" asked Nymphadora Tonks.

"We know he started tunneling about twenty minutes ago with those vibrations. If the recording is right, then he should be popping out of the ground any time now." Shacklebolt responded.

Five minutes later and the Aurors were seen pointing their wands unflaggingly.

"You don't think it could have just been a dream, Captain?" asked Auror Tonks.

"Nonsense, his regular dreams are blurry. This one and the past two were all vivid and detailed, and the past two times were true down to the last inch."

"The cerebral camera could be broken. A drone? Has anyone even seen that thing?"

"No, I cleared the entire prison of guards. You saw the recording. I'm not going to allow one of my guards to risk themselves being hit with the Killing Curse by a magical robot. You didn't think he'd be an animagus, either, but sure enough, he transformed last time. Just like the recording said he would."

"Touché."

"These plans are pretty good, though. Who would've thought to tunnel out of Azkaban? With a drone distraction no less? He would've escaped his first attempt if he didn't mull over them in his head every time. But I guess it's unavoidable with a well-thought out plan. I regret having to catch him again."

Captain Shacklebolt noticed one Auror with his wand down and slapped him upside the head.

They pointed at the circle for a very long time.

* * *

My cell was pretty far down there. I'm panting at the edge of the wards. No guards and no action. It's a shame, but I admit I did plan it that way.

How clever of them to install a machine in my cell that would perform legillmency on me. I believe they call it a _cerebral camera. _Too bad it gives me a perfect opportunity to escape. Voldemort gave me the idea in my fifth year at Hogwarts when he lured me to the Department of Mysteries. Projecting a false plan? Easy when you've shown them truth the last two times and when they don't think you're doing it intentionally.

A pity that no guards showed up. I have a lot of pent-up energy. I will have to save it for _him_.

A crack sounds and then there is no one.


End file.
